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Title: Making Like
Faggots
Author: Mogs
Type: Slash
Censor: PG-13
Disclaimer: Listen, if they were mine, they'd be wearing less. And boffing like bunnies.
Summary: Starsky and Hutch are NOT fruits. Starsky chooses
the wrong way to prove it.
Feedback/Critique: Please!
A/N: Inspired by a conversation on the me&thee yahoogroup about
whether Starsky & Hutch's colleagues think
they're gay.
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It was all Lieutenant Crowell's fault, really, nothing to do with me. No,
scratch that, it was Dobey's fault for taking all
his leave at once, and leaving us with Crowell in charge. I can't help it if
Crowell has weird ideas about stuff, can I?
We were in the squadroom when he said it, just
typing up reports of the robbery of a lingerie store by a perv
called Shorty Jones (we'd been trying to find a
stocking strangler at the time, but what can I say? We're just lucky guys.)
Now the more I see of Crowell, the more I realise that Dobey's
actually pretty relaxed about reports, 'cause even Dobey
doesn't expect reports on petty crime within an hour of the perp being arrested. Particularly when we've got streets
to patrol.
"Starsky, Hutchinson! Will you two stop making
like faggots and get me that damned report?"
Can you believe it? Yep. That's what he said, all right. I mean, me and Hutch are normal everyday guys, and everyone in
here knows it. Okay, so we touch each other sometimes, but it's not like it
means anything. We don't touch each other like *that*. And putting a hand on
someone's shoulder when you're reading over their shoulder doesn't mean you
wear lacy underwear and call everyone darling.
Well, I was a bit kinda surprised for a moment and I didn't say anything, but
Hutch's head shot up, and I just knew he was within an inch of saying
something we'd both regret for a long, long time. I clamped my hand down hard
on his shoulder before he could do anything.
"We are not-" It was funny, I'd never seen
Hutch get quite that angry quite that fast before. He threw my hand off and
rose quickly to his feet, snatching the report out of the typewriter and
scribbling his name on the bottom.
"You think we're making like faggots?" I put mock-hurt into my
voice, overriding whatever it was Hutch was going to say. "We weren't
making like faggots."
"If it looks like a dog, it's a dog," Crowell growled. He ignored
the finished report that Hutch thrust into his hand.
"Listen," I said with feigned innocence. "That wasn't 'making
like faggots'; *this* is 'making like faggots'."
Hutch gave me this kinda horrified look, and froze. "Now, c'mon Starsk, please-"
I didn't wait for him to unfreeze, because Hutch standing still with his
mouth open was just the opening I needed. I've dipped him before, but there
was just him and me, then, and I didn't follow up on it. This time--what can
I say? I was mad, and I was feeling a bit crazy, and Hutch standing there
looking horrified was just asking to be dipped. So I grabbed him in a classic
ballroom hold and dipped him every bit as enthusiastically as Ramon would,
giving him an exaggerated smooch on the way down.
I must have done it pretty well, because his eyes stopped being panicky and
took on this half-glazed look by the time I let go of him. The entire squadroom--except Crowell, of course--was laughing its
head off, and Crowell stalked back into Dobey's
office and slammed the door shut him.
Making like faggots indeed! Good riddance to him. I gave an elaborate bow to
the room and sat down. Hutch looked at me for a moment with this kinda blank
look on his face, and then pretty much collapsed into his own chair.
Now that was when I started getting a bit nervous, because you don't do
things like that to Hutch without some pretty serious fallout, and I was
gonna have to be in a car with this guy for the rest of the day. If I was
lucky, he'd just have his tantrum now and get it over with, but when Hutch
gets mad with you you're very lucky indeed to get away with just one temper
tantrum. Half the squadroom was watching us,
looking like they were waiting for something to explode, but Hutch just kept
on sitting there with this odd thoughtful look on his face.
Which could mean either one of two things. Either
Hutch was cold-bloodedly plotting revenge, in which case my ass was pretty
well grass, or--well, I couldn't think of any other reasonable explanation.
Maybe he was just thinking about what we'd done?
Well, that got me thinking about it of course, and I hafta say, I did it much better than the first time. Hutch is tall
than me, and just a bit heavier, and getting the angle just so takes real
skill, particularly when the dippee isn't
completely willing. And to dip someone you hafta hold them real close and
which woulda felt weird if it had been any other
guy, but cos it was Hutch it felt kinda right. Not
strange at all, just kinda . . .
Nice. It felt nice.
Now kissing him, that shoulda felt weird. I mean, we're partners,
we've had to get pretty close for quite a lot of reasons in the past, but
squashing close to someone to shelter from a bomb blast isn't that far from
holding them for any other reason. Kissing them's a
different matter, right? At least he killed that damned moustache, 'cause
that woulda been too strange for words. As it was,
I couldn't find any words for how it did feel. Just thinking about it, I
could feel that pressure again, and how his eyes looked when they lost that
panicky look and went wide and awed on me, and what would have happened if
I'd taken that kiss just a little bit deeper.
Always knew that boy thought too much. Now he's got me thinking about it too
much too, damn him.
I looked across at him, and he was staring at me, and I just *knew* that he
was thinking the same kind of things that I was. Our eyes met. It wasn't
exactly across a crowded room as the stories say, but it might as well have
been.
His eyes have some kinda mystic power to them. They look at mine, and my
whole body overheats.
He blinked then, and went back to looking normal. "Starsk,"
I kinda heard him say, and then his voice got a sort of edge to it. "Starsky!--Starsky, I don't know
if you're done trying to seduce me, but we've got streets to watch."
I was still thinking things that no red-blooded guy ought to think and it
took me a moment to concentrate on what he was saying. Especially as the word
'seduce' was doing strange things to my heart rate.
"What? Oh. Yeah."
He slid outta his chair and held the door open for me. As I walked past him
he whispered in my ear, "We'll send him a thank-you card on our first
anniversary." and pulled the door closed behind us.
We're nearly down at the parking garage now, and I'm glad he isn't trying to
talk to me 'cause my brain feels like a hamster on a wheel. Revenge, right?
That was all it was, and I hafta say, it was a good one, 'cause for a minute
he really managed to mess with my head for a bit there. I know he's good at
head games, and this was a classic, but he's straight, he really wouldn't
think anything like that about me.
The parking garage's deserted and he's got that
kinda look in his eyes again, the one he had in the squadroom.
Now, c'mon Hutch, you've had your revenge now, you don't need to--
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